| Going for Broke - Part I Nothing much ever seemed to happen in this stagnant, albeit bucolic, hamlet. My 14 year old twin daughters I know in retrospect would have been better off if we had moved years ago. Somewhere with a Junior High School that had some decent extra curricular activities to pursue may have kept them occupied. All they really had was each other...that and an internet connection that I should have kept a closer watch over. And I now find myself at a crossroads that pits my moral compass against protecting my girls from going to jail. But how do I reconcile my poor parenting with placing my daughters in devastating jeopardy. Fifteen years ago I had been impregnated by my mother's older brother. My father had been killed in mine collapse the year before. Mom acted like it was my fault for drinking beer with my uncle and 'inviting' trouble. When it was discovered that I was pregnant Uncle Billy skipped town. My mother, having been raised a staunch catholic conservative made getting an abortion, even under these circumstances, out of the question in her mind. I was too ignorant and afraid to know my rights at the time. My girls were born several months later. I named them Hannah and Hazel. I didn't want their names to be too cutesy and similar. My name also starts with an 'H' -- 'Helen' -- which a string was already underway it seemed as my Mom's name was Hope. They inherited the fair skin and freckles from their Irish grandmother. Having identical twin girls was going to be a financial strain. My mother had my Dad's meager pension and a workman's comp death benefit plus Social Security payments to live on. We got by on that for quite a while. But I had to quit school and start working right away. My mom stayed at home and helped raise my girls. Five years ago my mother passed away. She did not have life insurance and the house we lived in wasn't paid for. The housing crash left my inheritance to become a home with a larger mortgage than the equity that remained. So me and the girls pulled up stakes and moved to this small po-dunk town in south Georgia where we live to this day. I rent a duplex and sleep in the Living room. The girls share a bedroom and a double bed. Hannah and Hazel would come home from school to an empty house and have to fend for themselves 'til I got home at seven o'clock p.m. from my job at the pharmacy. They were only nine years old and there were no other kids in the neighborhood. The factory that had supported this community had shut down and all the young families had left or were like me -- wanting to move. There was only one couple anywhere near to us but their daughters were only two years old at the time. Too bad because they were identical twins as well co-incidentally. So basically, Hannah and Hazel had to make do with their own imaginations. Last year is when things really took a bad turn. I started dating this guy that would always flirt with me at the drugstore. I was only 28 at the time but he was just 22. He was gregarious and funny as hell. There weren't many other prospects to be found. And Steve's dad owned the only tavern in town, which as you can imagine was where a lot of folks went to drown their sorrows. So before long I was meeting Steve at the bar before I went home. Sometimes I would not get home 'til after midnight. But the girls never seemed to complain. Steve and I had been partying hard for the 6 months after we first went out. He would help out with the bills and buy the girls some nice, but I thought inappropriate, outfits. So I kind of turned my head to his increasingly boorish behavior. But I had never really had a 'real' boyfriend before. So I let my judgement slip increasingly over the next few months. One night after a night of drinking we stopped at my place instead of his for a change. Steve talked me in to lifting a few condone capsules from the pharmacy earlier. He said it would be a one time 'party' to celebrate his 23rd birthday. We sneaked in the kitchen door so as not to wake the girls. I peek into there room to make sure they are asleep. Steve is behind me as I stick my head quietly past the slightly opened bedroom door... ":::SHRIEK!!!:::" I scream at the top of my lungs... "MOM!! What are you doing here?!!! " Hazel screams "Don't you knock!!?!!!" Steve opens the door wide and there are my two girls watching lesbian pornography on their laptop and masturbating!!! "Whoah ho-ho!" Steve exclaims... He takes out his phone and starts snapping pictures. "STOP!" "PLEASE STOP!" "GOD DAMMIT STEVE they're only 13!" I scream. "Well looks like there's grass on the field so let's play ball Momma!" Steve peels down to his boxers and wife-beater Tee shirt and is already stroking a hard-on. Having been raped myself I grab a the baseball bat I keep by my bed and clobber him with it. Before he can gather his senses I have a .22 pistol aimed at his head. "Get the fuck out of my house! MOTHER FUCKER!" I scream "And NEVER come back" He grabs his clothes and his phone and starts to run. "Drop the phone or I'll kill you!" I scream. He doesn't break stride and proceeds to jump into his car and peel out of the driveway...I freeze in fear... I go back in to comfort the girls. They are dressed but huddled together. Before I can say a word there are sirens wailing down the street. The Police were in high speed pursuit of Steve's Camaro. Within 60 seconds Steve was dead in a crumpled mass of steel. After I give a statement at the police station later that night I return home to try and start putting our lives back on track. I am so worried about the photos left on Steve's phone. Sure enough a few days later I am visited by a worker from the Department of Children's Services. The girls are in no trouble. But I am... 'continued... |